


Foundation of Trust

by caliecat



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bromance, Gen, Humor, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliecat/pseuds/caliecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny's really wound up this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foundation of Trust

**Author's Note:**

> References to episodes from the first half of Season One.

Steve stood at the large window in his office, idly watching the last of the headquarters staff leave for the day. Stretching the last kink out of his back, he grunted with relief, then glanced down at his watch. Almost six, good. Danny should be back any minute and then they could head out for a few beers, grab dinner and put this total clusterfuck of a week behind them.

Maybe they'd try that new place at Aloha Tower, although this late on a Friday it was probably already packed. He smiled, imagining Danny complaining about the tourists, like he was any kind of _kama'aina_ himself, with his ties and leather shoes and weird aversion to pineapple—

“You’ve got one _hell_ of a nerve!”

Steve’s head jerked around at the sudden explosion of sound as Danny straight-armed the glass door, stormed into the office and planted himself in the center of the room.  Arms spread wide, he looked up as though seeking divine guidance, then speared Steve with a look of utter disbelief. “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?”

“Uh...what—?” Steve’s brow furrowed as he frantically replayed the day's events, failing to come up with a trigger for what appeared to be the beginning of a classic Williams rant. “I don’t—“

“Don’t play dumb with me!” Danny marched forward until he was close enough to touch, poking his finger in quick, angry stabs aimed at Steve’s chest. “Don’t even _pretend_ you don’t know what I’m talking about!” 

Steve held up his palms in supplication, resisting the urge to retreat behind his desk.  A display of weakness would only fuel the fire. “Hold on—“

“And what am I supposed to do now, huh? You think I can just waltz in to HPD and get my old job back?”

Steve's heart skipped a few beats. “Wait, why would you—“

“You _saw_ what happened when I tried to help Meka, all their snide little comments about our freaking task force and stealing their cases and the Governor's pets. And it's not like I was ever Mr. Popularity in the first place, no, not the _haole_. Did they even appear to _want_ our help? Sure, normal cops would be _grateful_ if you actually uncovered a mole in their department, but not here! No, not in the freaking Aloha State!” Danny’s arms shot out in a wide arc, almost hitting Steve in the face.

Steve manfully stood his ground without flinching. So this was belated fallout from the Meka case. Danny never finished processing that, which of course he had to do out loud and at full volume, since he wasn’t capable of having an unvoiced thought. Okay, he could wait while Danny worked this out of his system. He rested his hip on the edge of his desk, feeling the muscles uncoil. Might as well enjoy the show.

Danny paced in a short, tight circle, fuming about honor, loyalty and the superiority of the Newark Police Department. Steve tracked the hands flashing in rhythm to the sharp words, then let his gaze wander up to Danny's hair, sticking out in unruly spikes and burnished gold by a stray shaft of sunlight. Funny how the color could shift from brunette to blond depending on the light. He looked like one of those bantam roosters they saw strutting around at the cockfight, fiercely defending his territory, his absurd crest of hair held high, relentlessly pecking, pecking, pecking until you wanted to ring his neck—

“Hello, I’m talking to you! Are you even _listening_ to me?” Steve blinked and there was Danny, scowling into his face.

“Ah, sure Danny, I’m—“

"Shut up!"

Steve raised a hand in apology. He hadn't seen Danny this wound up in a long time, not since—well, he couldn't exactly remember when. But it didn't look like they'd be getting those beers anytime soon.

"No, like I just explained to you, you cold bastard, they are _not_ taking me back. And when you wash out of the Five-0, it doesn't look so good on a resume, does it? I won't even be able to get _Chin’s_ old job after this!” Danny's hand slammed down on the desk, dislodging a sheaf of papers from the neatly arranged stack.

Steve’s eyes followed them as they fluttered to the floor, then quickly snapped back to meet Danny’s. “You’re not—“

“Why are you talking?”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Danny took a deep breath as he scrubbed a hand over his face. His eyes shifted to a point across the room, his expression sliding from rage to sadness. “And Grace, what the hell do I tell her? Her father—what, her father screwed up _again_? First my marriage, now this? Oh yeah, she’ll be real proud of her old man now. And Rachel...well...won't she just....” He heaved a sigh, slowly shaking his head.

So was that it—Rachel was busting his balls again over custody? "Look, if she's trying to—" Steve clamped his mouth shut as Danny shot him a glare.

“And where am I supposed to take my little girl now that I can’t afford rent anymore? Assuming I even have visitation rights after this. Because in the real world, outside of your little ninja playground here, I have to worry about things like that. Or should I just tell Rachel to drop her off at the cardboard box I’m living in on the fucking _beach_?”

The image of Danny sleeping anywhere near sand nearly caused Steve to smile, but he knew that would only make things worse. So he narrowed his eyes and maintained what he hoped was an impassive expression.

Danny advanced another step, his hands chopping through the air. “But you know what the worst part is? I had to find out about your _new partner_ from that arrogant son of a bitch Mitchell at Pearl. Because you didn’t have the decency to tell me to my face, no, that would be just too human for you, wouldn’t it?”

Steve’s jaw dropped in surprise. What was that idiot Mitchell up to now? "Danny—"

"Did I say you could speak? And did you forget I'm a detective? I _detect_ , you asshole, I figure things out." Danny tilted his head, his eyebrows halfway up his forehead. "Yeah, that’s right, Secret Agent Man. I heard all about your pal—his SEAL training, his black ops, special ops, whatever shit, his bravery under fire, his war injuries—oh, I’m sure he’s at the White House right now getting his latest Medal of Honor—“

“Medal...what—"

"I told you to shut up!" Danny let out a long, shaky breath and rubbed his eyes, then continued in a softer tone. "So there I was in that Navy bastard’s office, trying to get the stuff I need to finish the paperwork on that case, which, by the way, he could have just given me over the phone without me _driving_ to the base, but no, why make things easy for the _civilian_ , that's not the Navy way, is it, and he couldn’t _wait_ to tell me all about your new best friend, and what a _great_ addition he’d be with all of his super-elite fucking _superpowers_.”

Danny’s hand slammed the desk again, this time overturning a half-filled can of cola. It rolled slowly to the edge and fell, landing with a faint metallic clink. He looked down, frowning, as though offended by the interruption, but quickly recovered.

“And of course, _I’m_ thinking,” Danny turned to his right, gesturing, Steve assumed, to the imaginary Mitchell, "that this is the new detective I heard we might be getting, and my boss just forgot to mention it to me, seeing as how we were involved in three unnecessary but time-consuming _gunfights_ this week, one of which required a trip to the hospital, oh and thank you very much, Danny, for saving my life again, and all of which required massive amounts of paperwork by yours truly, thank you again, Danny, because Super Seal was too busy cleaning his gun collection to bother with such _trivia_ , and that’s fine, that’s understandable....”

Danny pivoted back to his left, apparently now enacting Mitchell’s role. "But no, Detective, the Commander will be working with him personally, because after all, he can do _so_ many things you can’t, and you know the Navy, we like to be surrounded by our own, and he's so _uniquely_ qualified for the Five-0, and I heard even the Governor herself was impressed...."

Danny’s hand shot out, cutting left and right. “Oh yeah, Gus this, Gus that, fucking Gus and how he singlehandedly saved a unit in Afghanistan—oh, excuse me, _The Stan_ —where I'm sure he's already ended the war, and the records he broke for parachute jumps, and how he shoots a rifle better than Kono, and knows more about computers than Chin, and who wouldn’t want Superman as their partner, forgetting a little detail like _they already have one_?”

Steve stared back in utter confusion. “But...Gus is a dog.”

“Of course he is, _Smooth Dog_." Danny threw up his arms, his face plastered with a sarcastic smirk. "Who else would he be but one of your precious little band of Navy buddies. Because that worked out so well last time, didn't it. Why not try again? Let’s see, which one is this? Cool Dog? Top Dog? Fucking Snake-eater Dog?"

“No, listen—“

“No, you listen!" Danny smacked Steve's shoulder so hard he almost shoved him off the desk. "I didn’t even want this job in the first place. And you knew that! But I took it, didn’t I, and did my best with it, because that’s what you do, you do your best and you _honor your commitments_!”

Danny held his hand up under Steve's nose, ticking each point off with his fingers. “Haven’t I done everything you ever asked me too? Haven’t I followed you into every one of your half-baked idiot schemes that were probably designed to kill me? Have I not backed you up when you needed it? Did I not—“

“God, please stop, please...just stop.” Steve ducked his head and covered his mouth, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide. He tightened his jaw as he felt his control finally slipping away.

Danny eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Don't give me that face. If you think you’re playing the sympathy card with me....”

And then Steve broke, releasing his breath in a large whoosh that dissolved into barely-restrained spasms of laughter. “No, I... it’s....” he said, waving his hand wildly as he struggled to speak.

Danny’s face flushed as he grabbed Steve’s arm and shook it, hard. “This is _funny_ to you, you son of a bitch?"

Steve straightened, wiping his eyes as he tried to look serious. “No, Danny, he’s a _dog_ , you know, fur, four legs, uh...tail...?“

Danny dropped his hand like Steve’s arm was on fire. He shuffled back a step, cleared his throat and jammed both hands into his pockets with an air of studied nonchalance. “Huh. Well. So Gus is....“

“Yeah." Steve crossed his arms and grinned. "German Shepherd mostly. Although I think there’s Dobie in there somewhere.”

Danny’s eyes darted to the side. “Well, that’s just....“ One hand emerged, smoothing over his hair, then down the length of his tie. “Great.” After a moment, he snapped his eyes back to Steve, one finger twirling in the air. “But parachutes, seriously?”

Steve gave a quick nod. “K-9 Special Forces. Used for combat missions. And yes, he trained with the SEALS. Gus can detect explosives, drugs, cadavers, handle himself under fire, so yeah, I thought he’d be a good addition to our team. The Governor agreed and so here we are."

Danny was silent for a long moment. "Well, whatever, you should have told me."

"I was going to tell all of you on Monday after everything was signed off, but apparently Mitchell beat me to it."

"Mitchell," Danny muttered, looking like he just sucked a lemon.

"Like you said, he's a real prick." Steve reached forward and patted Danny on the arm. "But I think he's just jealous of you, seeing as how you're, you know, my actual partner and all."

Danny looked away again, lips pursed. “Yeah, well...." He frowned and then glanced back at Steve. “Okay, but a rifle?”

“Nobody said that. You made that one up.”

“Oh. Huh.” Danny set his hands on his hips, rolled his shoulders, eyes skipping around the room, then looked down at the papers scattered in a messy pool of brown liquid. “You, uh, you dropped something. Really, you could be a little neater around here, you're like a Neanderthal in a cave. Doesn't set a good example.” He crouched down, carefully picking up each piece and shaking it dry, arranging them one by one into a neat pile, then fussing with the stack until it was perfectly square.

Steve watched in amusement, feeling a great rush of affection mingled with relief that he hadn't actually screwed up this time. "You know what your problem is, Danny? You have no faith in me. Also, you are way too sensitive.”

Danny’s head shot up. “I am _not_ too sensitive—“

“Anyway, look on the bright side. You won’t be the shortest one on the team anymore.”

Danny groaned, rubbing his temple as though in pain. "Look, do me a favor, okay?"

"Sure."

"Could we just not speak of this again? And by not speak, I mean, seriously, never."

"Of course." Steve raised his right hand, thumb and pinkie tucked in against his palm. "Scout's honor."

Danny shot back his own one-fingered salute and attempted to look offended, but Steve knew better. “Come on,  partner, dinner’s on me.” He eased off the desk and headed to the door, hearing Danny follow a few beats later.

“You’re getting the drinks, too. And I want real food, no island crap.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got just the place.”

"Yeah, where?"

Steve spun to face him. "Trust, Danny, remember?" He gestured between the two of them. "The foundation of a good partnership.  We've been over this before."

"Screw you." Danny pushed him through the doorway, not quite able to hide his own smile.

~~~~~~~

It was a testament to Danny’s preoccupation that he was oblivious to his surroundings until they were parked behind a busy street in Waikiki. A full minute after the car stopped, he finally glanced out the window, then whipped back toward Steve, incredulous. “Are you shitting me? Are you insane?”

Steve turned to him with a wide grin. “Hey, it’s world-famous! Anthony Bourdain _raves_ about it—you've seen his show, right? Way better than anything you can get in Jersey. In fact, I hear Springsteen eats here after concerts.”

"Don't even—"

“And the best thing?” Steve leaned across the seats until his lips were almost touching Danny’s ear, dropping his voice to a whisper. “They make their own pineapple relish.”

Danny covered his eyes and sighed theatrically. “I hate you, this island and my life. In that order.”

Steve laughed as he sat back, giddy with the sheer pleasure of unconditional victory. “No, you love me. As you will love this. Let's go." He hopped out of the car, patiently waiting for Danny to join him, and then gestured expansively, joyously, at the brightly-colored yellow and blue sign over the restaurant entrance:

 _***Puka Dog, Hawaiian Style Hot Dogs***_

 

So maybe it had been a bad week, but it was shaping up to be an _outstanding_ weekend.


End file.
